


The Close

by Starren_Moonstone



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Hurt/Comfort, Jonah gets what's coming to him, M/M, Minor Character Death, New Year's Eve, No beta we kayak like Tim, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), failed ritual AU, gun threatening, light descriptions of burning skin, vision from The Eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starren_Moonstone/pseuds/Starren_Moonstone
Summary: Jon and Martin share the final moments of a rather lonely year together, and get some news come the first of the new year.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	The Close

**Author's Note:**

> This is the week five story I wrote for The Magnus Archives Flash Fiction Challenge. The prompts I used were New Year's, believe, and mirror. Believe is there if you squint. Hope you all enjoy!

Martin breaks out the champaign ten minutes before midnight, tasking Jon with getting the glasses. Except, well, they didn’t have any champaign glasses, so Jon waited patiently for Martin’s return on the couch, with two mugs sitting on the coffee table. One is a plain green mug decorated with very basic white birds while the other is Martin’s favorite mug in the cabin: a blue mug decorated with occasional dog paw prints. Martin stands there, mouth slightly agape, staring at the mugs.

“Is there a problem?” Jon asks when Martin makes no notion of moving from the spot.

“Jon… why are there mugs?”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “It is something to drink out of, unless you just want to pass the bottle. Daisy doesn’t have any champaign glasses, and I thought this was more fun than the juice glasses.”

Martin chuckles. “Count this as another first then.” He plops himself down next to Jon on the couch, and works the cork off the bottle. 

“Where does this rank then?” Jon asks, holding up the green mug. 

“Hm… a 7 I think.”

“That high?”

“I think it would have been higher if it wasn’t for that one day in the barn.”

Jon snorted and the two of them broke out laughing. “Alright, that is a fair point. But compared to everything else that we know has happened in the past, this has to be at most a 3.”

“Maybe, but all the spooky stuff is on a different list of horror. This ranking is purely off of “weird shit that won’t hurt you”.”

“So long as we don’t get too drunk.”

Martin snorts with slight laughter, finally getting the cork out with a pop. “So long as _you_ don’t get drunk, and we both know you are a lightweight.” He pours only a little in Jon’s mug, while he pours himself a healthy amount. This make Jon frown in a way that makes Martin giggle a little. “So you consent that you will get drunk tonight.”

“I only said too drunk,” Jon said as Martin pours more champaign, “There’s no doubt we are going to get somewhat drunk.”

Martin shakes his head, and pulls Jon closer to himself. They clink their mugs together and share a cheers. It isn’t until halfway through the mug that Jon speaks up.

“Don’t people usually wait until the new year to do that?”

“If you’re at a party, sure. But it’s just the two of us and I would like my booze.” Martin takes another sip from his mug.

Jon traces the rim of the mug. “I didn’t think we’d make it here,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t either. A cottage in the middle of Scotland… I would have never believed that six months ago.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant… not really.” Jon sighs, “I was just… I didn’t think we would be able to leave the Institute.”

Martin hummed in agreement. “I mean… we still kinda are? Not in the way we were before, but… there’s still Jonah.”

“I wish I could say I find it hard to believe that all our problems are because of an ancient Victorian man, but considering everything…” Jon lets his sentence break off as Martin starts laughing hard.

“I have 99 problems and a Victorian man is responsible for 98 of them.” Martin eventually gets out, trying to level his voice from the laughter, and then immediately breaks again. 

“I’m glad though, that I get to be here with you,” Jon says, “Seeing the new year. Though, I’m not really sure what to do now.”

“Besides killing Jonah?”

“Besides killing Jonah,” Jon agrees, taking another long drink of the champaign. 

The clock ticks on throughout the quiet cottage. The whole world holding its breath waiting for the new year to come. 5 seconds… 4 seconds… Martin shifts on the couch so that he looks directly at Jon. 3 seconds… 2 seconds… Jon puts down his mug, and puts his arms around Martin. 1… The clock chimes midnight. It is now 2019. Jon and Martin share a kiss, the first of many to come for the new year.

“Happy New Year, Jon,” Martin says, smiling warmly, partially from love, partially from the booze. 

Jon opens his mouth to reply the same, but something tugs at his conscious mind. It is loud and distracting. He was still in the cottage but he was also somewhere else. Not that he could see or hear or touch, but he could feel. Something rose inside of him, wanting to escape. A elegy. He tried to keep his mouth closed, to remain silent to keep whatever comfort Martin has left, but the words burst forcibly out of his mouth and the cottage groaned.

_Jonah Magnus, despite his image of immortality, is still human, with fatal flaws that even he himself is not aware of. Or rather, a fatal flaw that he has not put to mind for the past 200 years since becoming the head of his own Institute that he so proudly built in order to bring about a world full of fear. There is only one place that his eyes don’t reach, one place where only the ever present Eye is privy to without invitation, and that is his office. There are no portraits that line the walls, and he takes off his cuffs when he sits in the room for any length of time, putting them in a closed box. Alone, to watch those he has trapped with the Archives and see where their fates carry them. Almost all to certain doom and tragedy._

_The issue is, however, that he has a mirror on his desk that he uses to make sure he can carry the image of prestige. A mirror can have eyes, as long as one looks into it. Jonah Magnus finds himself staring at his own reflection, wondering how to fix the mess of a ritual his turned out to be, again. He would need a new vessel, for he could never use himself. Martin could have worked, but he is too close to the Failed Archivist. No, he needed someone less involved in that mess… There was Basira. She could still be of some use to him._

_A gun cocks in front of him, not that he is surprised. Basira in the flesh stands in front of him, glaring. “Hands where I can see them. Now.”_

_“Ah, Ms. Hussain,” Jonah starts, as a futile attempt to diffuse the situation. No one was supposed to find him there, but maybe his office was a bad place to hide out in. The Panopticon is a much better place to hide from prying eyes. Oh well, it’s not like anyone can really navigate those tunnels anyway. The police spent months trying to figure it out, and they eventually gave up. “What pleasure…” he stops talking, a pain blossoming in his stomach. It is hot and scaring._

_“I said hands up. Not that it will do you much good in a few minutes.” She smirks. She has been hunting him down for a long time now. She did not expect to find him back in his office, but it did make the escape route easier to plan, knowing the layout well of the building._

_“What are you doing?” Jonah asks calmly, the pain spreading quicker._

_“Finish up what Martin started. He should have killed you when he had the chance.”_

_“Oh? Is that so?” Jonah’s calm and outdated demeanor eroding quicker as the Eye supplies him with the knowledge that someone has navigated the tunnels leading up to the Panopticon. Someone found his original body, and has lit it on fire._

_“And now we can be rest assured that we don’t have to deal with you anymore,” Basira says, matter of factly, “You lost your power with the attempt to do a ritual back in October. This is just cleaning up the last remnant of it.”_

_Now usually, Jonah would have a trick up his sleeve. A back-door. A way out of an unpleasant situation. However, the hum of the active electrical current is no longer present, and the burning continues to eat at him alive. The burning climbs up and down his limbs. Jonah pulls back his left sleeve, revealing his skin being charred in real time._

_“Any last words?” Basira asks, aiming her gun. This is the usual kindness given to those deemed to die. A last meal. A last request to be carried out. The last words to ever be spoken by Jonah Magnus. And how can his life be simpled down to one meager sentence? All he worked towards. All he sacrificed, and left to die. Their deaths had once caused him agony in the dead of night when no one was around to hear. And the Eye certainly lapped up his anguish. He spent years killing those emotions in order to bring about the new world order in which he would be king. All worthless._

_His last words, however, would never be spoken out loud._

Jon steels himself to close his mouth, biting down on his finger. Martin has long since gathered Jon into his arms, trying to get him to stop. “Shhhh, shhhh….” Martin says quietly, his eyes squeezed tight. 

Jon rests his head on Martin’s shoulder, and he cannot help but smile. He chuckles quietly which turns into quiet crying.

“Jon?”

“He’s gone,” Jon says quietly, “Jonah Magnus is no more.”

“We can’t know for sure though. What if the Eye is lying?”

“It wouldn’t,” Jon says, “Not to its Archivist. Keeper of all the horrors hidden…”

“Hidden in the great world we live in, ok.” Martin finished before Jon could go on another tirade. “I still don’t… he could have something planned if he died.”

Jon considers it. “We could call Basira tomorrow.” Martin nods in agreement to the plan. “What a way to start the year,” Jon muses, slightly sulkily.

“Well, if it is true,” Martin says, rolling circles into Jon’s back, “It means we no longer have to live in hiding. We can get a proper house somewhere we don’t have to walk half an hour to get groceries.” 

“Where we can have wifi.”

“And the bedroom won’t be freezing in the winter.”

“It does make for good cuddling.”

“It would, except you roll around in your sleep. The point is… we can plan for the future again. Like normal people.”

Jon looks up at Martin, who looks cautiously optimistic. Jon pecks his boyfriend’s cheek with a kiss. “Happy New Year.”


End file.
